


Amaranthine

by rapmoney



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Act 3, Alcoholism, Angst, Canon Divergent, Jealousy, Love, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Possessive Behavior, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3094193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapmoney/pseuds/rapmoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been several years since Hawke was last with Fenris, but that doesn't mean he's forgotten their brief night together. In fact, he remembers it like it was yesterday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wine and Festivities

Amaranthine: unfading; everlasting; of purplish-red color.

 

It had been a terribly long day of fighting, as Hawke and his companions managed to save a nobleman's daughter on the wounded coast, protect an Antivan assassin from a more dangerous group of Antivan assassins and fight off a large group of bandits in Darktown.

Now, inside the Hanged Man, his companions were basking in their well-deserved down time. Tonight, it appeared, with the addition of his companions and a large merry band of travelers, the Hanged Man was more lively and merry than ever. Aveline and Donnic were seated at a center table, but were conversing in light whispers and intimate gestures as if there were no one else in the world but them. Anders was seated with Merrill and was having a passionate discussion about his manifesto with a small group of regulars. Varric appeared to be drunk out of his wits and was presenting Bianca to a small band of travelers. He kept alternating between passionately stroking the crossbow and waving it around in a fashion that most would consider to be the acts of a maniac.

The ribald pirate queen Isabella was certainly living up to her infamous name as it appeared that she was playing a rather risque game of 'strip wicked grace' in the middle of the pub with a few of the newly arrived travelers who were yet aware of her cheating methods. From the looks of it, the three young men who were playing against her were all down to their undergarments, trying to preserve what little of their dignity they still had left, while Isabella stood with a full body of clothing, not a hair out of place. Isabella looked absolutely delighted with herself. The terrible poet who was usually there trying to woo the women seemed to be more drunk that usual, and was serenading soft words and amorous poetry at the stoned wall that morbidly needed a good scrubbing.

Sebastian, normally one of Hawke's more quiet and reserved companions also appeared to be quite merry tonight. Even from a distance, Hawke could tell that Sebastian was silently and contently whispering the chant of light as he polished his Starkhaven longbow by the warm fireplace. Although he was one of Hawke's most steadfast companions, ever since Hawke had managed to help the orphaned Prince of Starkhaven, Sebastian was definitely one of the more reserved companions. Sebastian frequently sat by himself with a visage of content, as his devotion to the Maker seemed to allow him eternal peace.

Everywhere else in the Lowtown pub was just as full of merrymakers -- the regular drunks in the pub chatted excited with one another and with the new travelers from Ferelden. Ever since Hawke became the champion, the people of Kirkwall seemed less weary of outsiders, finally allowing travelers and refugees into the city.

Hawke sat at a corner table, thankful for the relative silence it provided in the rather chaotic and cramped pub. As he nursed his mead in the dark corner, he smiled to himself as he observed his companions -- everyone looked merry, absorbed in the events of the moment. At times like these it was much easier for Hawke to forget all the terrible things that have happened in the past years, and the ominous events that are bound to happen in the future. At times like these it was much easier to remember some of the better memories. He was now the Champion of Kirkwall, the savior of the Kirkwall people, defender of mages, right hand of the Viscount, and the man who is single-handedly accredited to ending the Qunari invasion.

But despite all of these things, the horrors of the last few years still stayed with him. Hawke was constantly reminded of the grotesque aftermath of the Qunari invasion, of the wretched and unfair death of his dear mother Leandra, the unpredictable death of Carver, the imprisonment of Bethany, the rising tension between the Templars and the mages, and all that has gone wrong in Kirkwall ever since he had stepped foot into this accursed city. With a shake of his head, Hawke snuffed away the painful memories of the death of friends and family as he swirled the amaranthine colored brew slowly in his mug. He wasn't nearly drunk enough yet to ponder over the more solemn and morose events. He too a swig, and noticed a flash of red on someone out of the corner of his eye.

Seated a few tables away, on the other side of the fireplace, was Fenris. Fenris was an enigma and a paradox in and of himself. Fenris who has a fragile build but could lift a sword taller than Hawke himself, Fenris who despised mages but chose to stand by Hawke as he fought for their freedom, Fenris who hated magic but had the burn of lyrium deep within his veins, Fenris who left Hawke willingly but still wore the red strip of cloth around his wrist as if he were afraid of severing what little ties were still binding the two of them together. There on his wrist now, the blood colored cloth of Hawke's sheets served as a constant reminder to the brief night they spent together all those years ago.

A one night stand.

No.

No, it couldn't have been.

It was too painful to remember it as just that. If it's one thing that Hawke has learned throughout his time spent in Kirkwall it was the fact that the bond of companionship ran deeper than the frivolous ties of family. Time and time again, this has proven to be true when the members of his family have either passed or left in these few years.

People have always held him on a pedestal, Hawke knew. From the moment they escaped Lothering, Hawke was the one who had been put in charge, he was the one who continually kept going and going and going as each of his family members fell. He was one that everyone could depend on and the one that everyone _did_ depend on. When Hawke became the Champion of Kirkwall, his responsibility was no longer just his closer relations, but rather the entire city. Needless to say, it was not an easy task.

However, Hawke's brief encounter with Fenris had felt like something different. When he was with Fenris, he was allowed a brief relief -- a sobering moment of intimation reserved for him and his, dare he say, _lover_. Fenris of all people understood him, understood that behind The Man, was _the man_ , who was capable of intense emotion, extreme depravity and raw passion. More important than their physical connection during what was now dubbed 'The Night' by Hawke, was the emotional connection that Hawke had felt, and had knew to be something that can only come once in a lifetime. Fenris who had once been a physical _tool_   to Danarius himself, understood humanity, and the burdens that came when people no longer recognized an individual as an individual, but more so like an object. Their mutual understanding was the initial bond that brought the two of them together, and allowed them to share the singular yet intimate night together. 

So no matter how much Fenris may try to distance himself from the event, they both knew it was more than that. Oh, _maker_ , Hawke hoped it meant more to Fenris than just a one night stand. Because even now, after years and years of separation, years of going without a single touch, Hawk still yearned for the callused yet gentle hand on his face, for the soft yet crushing pressure on his lips, and for the breathless whispers that seemed to reverberate along his skin with each new wave of pleasure.

Hawke continued to nurse his mead, but now turned in his seat so that he could cautiously observe Fenris without obviously staring outright. The first thing that Hawke had noticed about Fenris was his cautious and rather obvious calculated movements that reveal his constant paranoia. The silver-haired elf had managed, to the best of his abilities, to hide himself away into a corner that allowed him to observe all the entrances and exits of this rowdy establishment. The fact that his left hand laid clenched on his knee also betrayed the mentality of prey -- a feeling of constant anxiety and fear of being hunted.

Fenris was seated at the table on the other side of the fireplace, tucked right into the corner of the Hanged Man and the light from the warm fiery glow cast a golden light upon his silver hair. His mouth and nose were pinched in an expression of obvious distress or aggravation, which to the normal onlooker, would appear to be just the ordinary expression that frequently graced his face. He was glaring down at his aged Tevinter wine with an expression of disgust; judging from his expression, Hawke could only assume that he was remembering his life in Tevinter as a slave to Danarius and Hadrianna and all those evil magisters. Ah yes, and one more paradox -- Fenris who hated his life in the Tevinter Imperium yet still dwelt over those horrid memories.

Hawke glanced back down at the last of his mead, took a large and final swig and thought, _why the hell not?_

Hawke quickly got up from his dark and frankly dingy corner table and shuffled his way over through the crowded tables to where Fenris sat. Without reserve or question, Hawke plopped himself down in the seat opposite from the broody elf, "Fine night I'll say," he said as greeting.

Fenris, who had stilled as soon as Hawke had come within fifteen feet of him, paused and with obvious effort, tore his eyes up from the Tevinter wine and glanced briefly into Hawke's amber eyes, and flashed his gaze back down. For just the briefest moment, Hawke got a glimpse of raw and puffy red rims around both of Fenris' eyes, and froze--

"Fenr--"

"Not another word Hawke," Fenris warned harshly in his usual tone, though his words were lacking its usual incision and vigor. He cut Hawke off as he dropped his mug down on the table with a clang, "I don't need this. Not tonight. Not from you," he managed to choke out the last word as his voice broke. He looked so small and frail and broken then as he slouched in the chair, both hands now on his lap, head turned down and avoiding making eye contact, which now that Hawke thought about it, was another vestige of Fenris' time as a Tevinter slave.

In less than a second, Hawke felt his heart drop. Despite all the merrymaking and music and loud festivities in the pub, all of it seemed irrelevant when it came to Fenris. He reached out his hand towards Fenris, then thought better of it, withdrawing his hand so that it laid feebly on the wooden table. Fenris, keen as he was, obviously took notice of it, but unlike in the past, made no comment on Hawke's attempt to grasp his cold and gauntlet-clad hands.

"Fenris," Hawke began again, this time more cautiously. Fenris didn't lift his head or acknowledge that he heard the other man speak. "Fenris, please. Tell me what's wrong," Hawke pleaded. No matter how much pain Hawke had suffered, he couldn't imagine what it was like for Fenris. At least when his family had been alive, Hawke had been very happy. Leandra was the best mother that anyone could have asked for, Hawke would have been proud to call Bethany and Carver his siblings, and even Malcolm Hawke, his father, had been a kind and loving father who supported him, trained him and mentored him well as he grew to become an able-bodied man. When his family had been together, they were happy.

But someone like Fenris who had no family, no memories of happiness, was on an entirely different tier. That had been yet another aspect of their brief relationship -- in the brief period when they were together, Hawke had the privilege of watching the smallest smile appear onto Fenris' face. As they laid in bed, hands intertwined, Hawke had thought he had seen what Fenris would have been like if he hadn't been a slave. If Fenris had been allowed to grow up with a loving family, and allowed to love, and to live a life of his own. Their brief romance together had nearly convinced Hawke that he was capable of bringing happiness, if not joy, into both of their frankly solemn and rather grim lives they led. Yet now, Hawke realized, that if he had _truly_ been able to bring contentment to Fenris' life, it would not have been so easy for Fenris to decisively break their-- _whatever it was_ that they had together.

Fenris picked up his wine again as if there were no solutions to his painful life other than the false sense of security that alcohol provided. He took a long swig, all the while Hawke sat there feeling helpless. His own mug was now devoid of alcohol, which had the ability to loosen him up. He now clutched an empty mug while simultaneously clutching an emptying heart.

There was no one in the world that he loved more than Fenris, not this kind of love at least. While he had always been surrounded by familial love, from his mother, his father and Bethany and Carver, he had little experience in-- in whatever _this--_ was _._   And that was one of the hardest things about breaking away as well. Hawke needed to constantly remind himself that he was no longer with the brooding elf, which meant that when Fenris was upset, he could no longer take his cold gauntlet-clad hand, and when Fenris was suffering, like he was now, there was little Hawke could do but comfort him in ways only appropriate to him as a friend.

In this moment he could do nothing to ease whatever pain his lover, _no_ , his _ex-lover_ was feeling. Hawke would do so much, so, so much for Fenris if only the elf would allow Hawke to come closer. In the following months after their first night, there was so tension and pain and sorrow between the two of them, so much so that none of their companions had the courage to bring up the subject. Hawke constantly had to remind himself that Fenris was no longer his, and he had no right to feeling the emotions he had been feeling simply because Fenris is not his, never was his to begin with. He had hoped that Fenris would be somewhat more impacted by their separation, however, after a mere week, he reverted back to his professional demeanor. As time went on, it became easier for Hawke to distance himself, and now three years later, he can even say that they were friends once more. 'Friends' of course in the loosest sense of the word.

When Fenris returned to his professional demeanor, he no longer seemed to depend on Hawke for any of his own personal matters, hardly spoke to him outside of necessity and only made small talk occasionally with their other companions. The only time that Hawke had even a remote sense that Fenris had also felt loss was when Anders had spoken to Fenris on one of their adventures together. Fenris had said that leaving was the hardest thing he's ever done. Hawke didn't know what to make of it at the time, but chose not to read too deep into it -- nothing good was bound to come out of that. Especially since it's obvious that Fenris no longer had any interest in him or their relationship. 

After breaking away from their undefined relationship, Hawke never really made an attempt to be together with anyone else. Although Anders and even Merrill had expressed a clear interest in him, he never had the heart to abide to their wants because even now, he was so focused on Fenris. When Anders had approached him in his own home, in his own bedroom, and propositioned him, the only image that remained in his mind was the memory of Fenris, who stood shyly and awkwardly by the fireplace in his room, looking as if he wasn't sure, or could not possibly fathom the idea that Hawke was deeply, undeniably, in love with him. With that thought in mind, Hawke pushed Anders away, even if that did create somewhat more of a wall between them. And when Merrill had obviously tried to approach him, Hawke had remembered the graceful and delicate shape of Fenris' ears as they laid beside one another on a bed too big for what they were both accustomed to. Hawke remembered that when he commented on his ears, Fenris had turned away, slightly more red in the face, and said that he disliked that part about himself as well. And with that thought in mind, there was no way that Hawke could accept the proposition of Merrill. 

Throughout the years Hawke still maintained his usual flirtatious manner, even if he meant little by it. Even today, while rescuing the Antivan assassin, Zevran, Hawke had casually and jokingly flirted with the rather risque former companion of the Grey Warden. He couldn't remember much of the day due to the overwhelming and busy nature of the adventures today, but he did remember that Fenris seemed slightly annoyed about the casual flirting. 

Yet in this moment, it felt as if he were a mere stranger to Fenris.

Fenris finished his drink and plopped the empty mug back onto the table. Then he smeared the back of his hand across his face, as if he were trying to hide invisible tears from falling. Tears that only Fenris could experience and remember. Hawke's heart sank again, and seeing that he could no longer have the one he loved in such a state, reached forward and grabbed Fenris' hand. As expected, Fenris flinched away from his touch and froze entirely, his body rigid and preparing for the worst.

Hawke reached for Fenris once more, sensing that this time Fenris would be more prepared for it. Fenris was still frozen, but no longer flinched away. Hawke allowed himself one more courageous act as he allowed himself to slip his broad hand into Fenris' slender and fragile ones. Without glancing at the smaller man, Hawke gripped Fenris' hand and squeezed it, just basking in the feeling of being able to hold the slender and callused fingers again.

"Come with me," he said softly after a moment, with a small tug of his hand. It took a moment of pulling, but Fenris finally followed Hawke back to the empty rooms of the Hanged Man, albeit a little unwillingly. The two of them both knew that if Fenris truly wished to escape, he could quite easily jerk free from Hawke's grasp. Instead, now it felt more like Fenris was holding onto Hawke's hand instead, as if he were actually willing.

The two of them slipped between the tables and between all the drunken patrons and made their way into one of the empty chambers. Thankfully, most of his companions had sensed the mood and saw their interconnected fingers and immediately understood. No one gave the two of them an obvious parting glance as they headed to the upper levels of the Hanged Man. As soon as they were inside the empty room and alone, Fenris struggled free from the grasp and Hawke managed to close the door, trying to appear unaffected by Fenris when he struggled to disentangle their fingers. The two of them were alone for the first time in a long, long time. Even now, his heart ached for Fenris, especially so as he knew that Fenris was currently suffering.

"Fenris," Hawke began, standing at a considerable distance away, "Tell me what's wrong."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! This is my first Dragon Age fic so if you have any suggestions feel free to let me know! However, this fic is also very canon divergent (since I can't get my timeline straight, cause lots of quests happens at different times during different playthroughs). 
> 
> Fenris/Male Hawke is still my favorite pairing so expect lots of writing about them. This fic will probably be pretty long. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Feel free to leave me a kudos or a comment! I like to hear what you guys think.


	2. Confessions and Intoxications

Hawke tried again, "Fenris, if you don't tell me what's wrong, there is nothing I can do to help you," he spoke quietly, so quietly in fact, that one could still hear the conversation in the lower levels of the Hanged Man. Hawke was quite sure that if one were to actually make an effort to distinguish between the voices, it would have been rather simple to pinpoint Varric's loud yet brassy bass, and Isabella's higher-pitched laughter, and perhaps the incessant and tireless sound of Anders' voice as he attempts to preach the message of his manifesto to all those who were, or weren't, willing to listen.

Yet the voice of the one he actually wished to hear from would not speak at all.

After entering the room, Hawke had taken a position in front of the wooden door, almost as if to protect Fenris from the corruption of the outside world. Fenris was now huddled in the corner again, eyes shifting from object to object in the room, looking at everywhere but Hawke. At this moment Hawke realized that to Fenris, it probably looked more like Hawke was trying to prevent him from escaping. In a casual attempt to reconcile the situation, Hawke moved away from the door and took a cautious step towards Fenris.

And then another step.

And another.

Until he was situated in close enough proximity to Fenris that would allow him to adequately comfort the smaller elf if needed. Seeing that Fenris still refused to speak, Hawke stood by awkwardly, leaning onto the wall, "If you need anyone to talk to," he took a deep breath, "I am yours."

At this Fenris finally managed to look up into Hawke's eyes, as he recognized the words. They had _only_ been the words that he himself has spoken to Hawke numerous times. Even from the start, Hawke had noticed that those words had always had a double meaning -- something that Fenris himself must have been well aware of.

Fenris stared fearlessly into Hawke's eyes, and Hawke stared back, just as intense, both at a stalemate as neither refused to withdraw their gaze. Finally, a sob broke through the air, as the edges of Fenris' eyes fogged up again. Hawke gazed in bewilderment — Fenris never cried. Not in front of him at least, and yet tonight, he has seen tears pour effusively out of his dashing blue eyes twice already.

Hawke paused as he moved his hands up, then faltered as he was once again pummeled with the irrefutable fact that they were no longer in _that_ kind of relationship.

Despite his usual charming and sarcastic nature, Hawke was actually awkward in these kinds of situations. Sure he could rattle off some wit with Varric or make a snarky remark to Isabella, but he wasn't good at this. And if he were to be really honest with himself, the charm and the sarcasm and all the flirting were more or less a shield to hide the real him from the outside world.

He froze with his hands lingering inches away from Fenris' arms, unaware of what to do with them next. As another sob escaped from Fenris, Hawke felt as if a dagger had been plunged into his own heart. Gritting his teeth, he decided to let go of whatever it was that was holding him back, and decisively reach forward and hold Fenris in his arms.

He was unaware of how to comfort someone in this kind of state, much less someone like Fenris. He knew that there were certain triggers that Fenris had been particularly sensitive to – words like 'my' and 'mine' and 'yours' when speaking about 'owning' a person, and anything to do with mages, or slavery, or elves.

Hawke was never good at this in the first place. Even when he was younger, he had always been the warrior, the protector, never the comforter. It had been primarily his Mother's job, as she somehow managed to understand each and every one of them, from his father, Malcolm's stubbornness, to Carver's headstrong bravery, to Bethany's sense of righteousness. His mother would have known what to do with Fenris in this situation, and if Fenris had let her (albeit hesitantly and begrudgingly), she would have held him tight and gently rubbed soothing circles onto his back and perhaps kiss his forehead like Fenris was her own precious child. But she wasn't here anymore. Hawke now had yet another responsibility piled up onto his shoulders.

So Hawke could only imagine what his mother would have done, and replicate it. He held Fenris tight, and rested his chin on Fenris' spiky shoulder pads. He cautiously leaned backwards against the wall so that he would be low enough to actually provide comfort to the shorter man.

The shorter man choked out a quieter sob as he leaned his forehead into Hawke's steel-plated chest armor. At this moment, Hawke wished that he had taken the effort to disrobe his armor and had worn his usual noble dress instead. The soft cloth would have been much more preferable to the cold, steel hardness of his armor, not to say that it must have been tarnished by a thousand battles already.

Hawke wrapped his warm and hopefully inviting arms gingerly around the smaller man, and they rested like that. Hawke breathed quietly through his nose, each inhale and exhale more pronounced, so that Fenris would no doubt feel the slight movement. Fenris clutched at Hawke's chest with his spiky gauntlets, unmoving for the most part. The two stayed that way as each inhale was met with the exhale of the other. Slowly, it felt as if Fenris was calming down.

Then so quietly, that Hawke could barely hear, Fenris let out a small noise. Surprised, Hawke let goed, sensing that Fenris was now no longer inclined to being held. Fenris instead, didn't remove himself from his position, but rather huddled up close to Hawke, residing in the crook of Hawke's arm, allowing himself to be held closely to Hawke, but not so close that they could feel each other's breath. Hawke's arm extended a bit awkwardly to the side, and Fenris chose to lodge himself in between the space of Hawke's chest plate and the bend of Hawke's elbow.

"I--I meant it," were the soft words that escaped Fenris' lips. Hawke paused, and thought back to their previous conversation, or rather, the one sided conversation on his part.

"Which part?" He asked, matching his tone and pitch to that of Fenris'. He tried remembering which part Fenris could have referred to, but nothing stood out as something that Fenris could have been referring to. Fenris leaned to the left so that he was no longer pressed to Hawke's side, and was closer to the bent arm. His face was a slight tint of pink, either from embarrassment or from multitude of alcohol that Fenris had no doubt consumed that day, Hawke couldn't tell.

Fenris bit his lips, determined to drill a hole through Hawke's armor with his piercing gaze alone, "All of it, I--I've meant everything that I have ever said to you," he paused, "From my first words to you, to... everything that I've said until now. All of it, I've meant _all_ of it."

Hawke blinked, "I--I don't understand. What--what do you meant?"

Fenris seemed to visibly have trouble with speaking at this point, "I," he inhaled, "I am yours," he took another breath as Hawke's eyes began to grow wider, "and...it was the most difficult thing I have done. Leaving you was not an easy task,"

Hawke now stared outright at Fenris, "I-- Fenris what brought all this on?"

"Hawke, what we had that night...it was something special was it not?" Fenris continued without changing his tone, as if he hadn't even heard Hawke's question. "You felt it too did you not? I'm not just talking about the physical endeavors," Hawke physically felt himself blush, "F-Fenris, you can't just--"

"And don't pretend that I don't see the way you have gone on without me," Hawke now stilled, "How you so quickly returned to your usual flirtatious self -- why, I've seen the way that abomination has been looking at you for the past several weeks, and that bloody mage girl who is so absolutely infatuated with you..." Hawke was speechless, he never thought Fenris took notice of things like that.

"And, just today after saving that elven assassin, that you flirted with the entire time-- right in front of me! What do you think _this_ ," Fenris held up his arm with the red cloth, "What do you think this means Hawke? While I constantly keep a piece of you by my side," Fenris hiccuped, "You constantly make those, those infuriating eyes any anything with a heartbeat!" He accused rather harshly. 

"Fenris, that's not true, I don't--" _mean anything by_ _it_ , Hawke finished guiltily in his head. While Fenris had just said that he had meant every single word, Hawke was the opposite. He was constantly joking around with all of his companions, regardless of whether they had an romantic interest in him or not. He supposed that he never thought much of it, because to him, Fenris was the only one that mattered. But it was true, Hawke did flirt, flirt _a lot_ in fact. It was no secret that he made passes, even jokingly to Anders all the time. No wonder the poor mage got the wrong idea, especially given the fact that everyone in his companion circle knew that Fenris was no longer together with Hawke, Anders had thought it was finally his chance. Maker, Hawke deserved whatever it was that was waiting for him. Not to say the countless times he had purposely teased little Merrill, or the constant innuendo filled banter he had with Varric, or was overly kind (almost inappropriately kind to a married woman) to Aveline, or his constant risque quips with Isabella. All of it added up, and he never really thought much of any of it, because to him it was all in jest.

"And that elven assassin, he--he," Fenris continued, voice started to get more pitched, "He dared to proposition you right in front of me! Had I not stepped in, would you have..?" Fenris' voice drags to near silence, and Hawke beings to hear the small tremor again.

"Would you have done to him what you've done to me on that night?" was the small noise that was Hawke was barely able to make out. He had never knew that Fenris had all these emotions bundled inside him, because he had yet to them share with him until now.

"Of course not Fenris, I would never--"

"Hawke," Fenris said quietly, cutting through Hawke's words, "Do you know," he swallowed, "How difficult it is, for a former slave like me, to--to, say 'I am yours'?"

Hawke's breath hitched, he never really house about it that way. That was one of the words that triggered Fenris, now that he thought about it. For Fenris to give himself up so wholly to him must have taken a lot of trust and bonding. But he never meant for it to be like that, whenever Fenris had said the phrase 'I am yours', Hawke revelled in the fact that it also meant that he was Fenris'. It was a mutual relationship.

"Fenris," Hawke began tenderly, "Don't interpret it like that, please. When you say that phrase, I mean the same for you. I am yours as well, and only yours." Hawke said gently. He really wasn't good at stuff, but he hoped that if he spoke whatever was in his heart, it would be the most genuine and the most real.

Fenris lifted his now obviously tear-stained face to Hawke, and gently pressed his lips to Hawke's cheek. Hawke was at first taken aback, but then finally found a use for his limp arms which had been lying by his side up until now. He cupped Fenris' face and looked into his eyes, the way that he had always wanted to look at Fenris, the way he had undoubtedly been surreptitiously doing so all this time. He stared right into Fenris' beautiful blue eyes and for a second just poured all of his longing into that one gaze.

For a split second, Fenris gazed right back, but then as his eyes welled up again, Fenris ducked his head in what appeared to be shame, "Do not look at me like that Hawke. Do not look at me like that since you don't mean it. Do not look at me like that if you are just going to make that same face at all of those others. If you look at me like that, then it will be all the more difficult for me to leave you when the time comes," he hiccuped out in broken sobs.

Hawke felt his heart shatter into a million pieces, "No, Fenris. I--I don't look at anyone else like this. This is just reserved for you. Only you."

"Don't lie to me," was the only response, but even that sounded weak. 

Hawke cupped Fenris' face in his own hands, and before he had a chance to overthink it, Hawke leaned in and pressed his lips tenderly to Fenris' own unexpectedly soft ones. Despite not having done this since their last time, their bodies were accustomed to one another. Hawke felt natural as he cupped Fenris' face with one hand while the other hand reached to hold Fenris at the small of his back. Fenris let one of his hands settle gently over Hawke's as their lips moved softly and gently, all according to memory.

When Fenris finally detached himself, Hawke let out a small noise of disapproval, as he would have much rather prolonged whatever this was, to just a bit longer.

Fenris made a sad expression once again, which Hawke again realized wasn't at all like his usual dark and brooding self, "Don't--Don't do that to me Hawke. I know you're just going to move onto someone else. And I'm just going to be left with all this hatred and loathing and this constant urge to hurt those you're kind to. Don't do things like this--that--that will make me think you still love me."

"But I do Fenris, I do."

"No, you don't. If you did, you wouldn't have allowed me to go, and let me--left me alone in Danarius' manor with all those Tevinter wines and no one to talk to," Fenris slurred, looking a bit uneven and frankly out of sorts. 

Hawke's mind suddenly realized what was happening-- no this was not the usual Fenris, "Fenris. You're drunk, aren't you?"

"I've only had three bottles of ‘vinter wine before we got...to the Hanged Man," Fenris slurred, now more visibly.

"Fenris, we've only just arrived back in Kirkwall at sunset! And I've seen you drink at least two more mugs while you’re here! Maker, Fenris you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"Don't tell me what to do Hawke," Fenris said, with what might have been a menacing tone three bottles of wine earlier.

"Maker, I--I'm getting you home."

Fenris now began to show visible signs of his intoxication. Hawke didn't know what to do. It was already dark now, and there were bandits and all sorts of cults that have recently sprung up in the past few years ever since the first ring of bandits were driven out by Hawke himself.

These bandits and cultists had a tendency to constantly prey on the meek and drunk. Even if he was more than confident that Fenris could take on these thugs during the daytime, during the nighttime, while he was also under the influence of heavy alcohol, was a different matter.

"Let's, let’s get you home Fenris." Fenris nodded slightly, and followed Hawke out, his face still holding the facade of sobriety, but upon closer inspection, one would no doubt be aware of his inability to keep his emotions and expressions in check.

Hawke let goed of Fenris' hand, quickly undid the locks on the door, and flung the wooden door open.

The two of them made their way out of the room, sidestepping a few drunks who've managed to grovel their way up to the guest rooms. The two of them left the empty room, much to the delight of a much more drunk patron who was severely in need of a place to stay for the night.

While Hawke walked closely to Fenris -- so close that he could feel the bumping of their shoulders together, the two walked down to the main level of the Hanged Man, where the rest were still having their merry time.

"I'm going to turn in for the night, you all have fun without me," Hawke said with a quick wave. Isabella gave him a wink, Varric and Sebastian a small wave, and the rest of his companions smiled to him as he left, making no indication that they knew Fenris with him. But of course, they knew. 

Hawke said a brief word of goodbye to the rest of the regulars, and approached the bar one last time for the night. He paid everyone's tab with a shiny sovereign, much to the delight of the drunks and barkeeps, and left with Fenris at his side.

As the two stepped out into the cold, Hawke was suddenly aware of how warm and inviting it had been in the Hanged Man. It had a fire, a merry band of travelers, loud music and even louder laughter. Here, in the cold, every sound became much more prominent. He stole a fleeting glance at Fenris, who was just keeping his head down and walking forward in step with Hawke.

The two slowly made their way from Lowtown to Hightown, and Hawke realized that there was nothing that much different in between the two areas. Of course there was the occasional bandit on the Lowtown streets, hidden in the shadows, waiting to strike on any and all unsuspecting passerbyers, and of course there was the screaming infant, but Hightown offered wealthy corrupt businessmen hiding in the shadows, making shady deals by moonlight, and wealthy men and women who screamed at their adulterous spouses, despite their usual facade of peace and prosperity in the daytime. Midnight, Hawke had always thought, was witching hour. It was at this hour that humanity’s true intentions were made clear, and all masks were removed. In the night, people were much more honest.  

Upon nearing Hawke's own residence, he had a quick flash of remembrance to the 'home' that Fenris called the decrepit pit of a mansion that reeked with blood, alcohol and perhaps some type of rotting carcass. Then, he could imagine his own home, warm, inviting, and certainly with less of a scent of decay and death. Even with his mother gone now, the home itself was still inviting.

Also, if it just so happened that Danarius came for Fenris tonight, there was no way that the elf could fend him off in his drunk and emotionally unstable state. Hawke knew that it was most likely paranoia on his part, but he didn't want to risk it. Not now, not when Fenris was in this state, and not when Fenris had just spilled his heart out to him.

Before he could change his mind, he grasped Fenris' hand and tugged him towards Hawke's own home, "Stay with me for the night Fenris," Fenris attempted to tug away from him gently, “Take me home Hawke.”

"Please Fenris. Just for tonight."

Fenris at that point had been too sluggish or drunk to fight back, and after glancing into Hawke's whiskey colored eyes, obliged. He followed Hawke obediently to his home.

The two were greeted by Bodahn, who had just been about ready to head to bed himself. Sandal was already asleep in his own room, and his Mabari hound was wandering around the fireplace, a bit aimlessly before Hawke appeared.

Hawke smiled at his hound and ruffled his fur, "You're a good puppy aren't you," he cooed with a grin, and broke out into an even bigger grin when his hound rolled over in delight. Hawke gave his hound a quick belly rub and a quick scratch around the ears and then rose from his position again. He snuck a quick glance over at Fenris, who was looking down at his dog with an expression of genuine interest.

Even while under the influence of alcohol, Fenris seemed adequately intrigued by his dog, but that would have to be for another time.

"Fenris," Hawke said softly, "We don't have a guest bedroom, so you'll have to sleep in my room."

There had, in fact been no guest room in their modest and newly built home. The only other remaining room besides the servant’s quarters were his mother’s room, and even now, a few months detached from his mother’s death, Hawke still couldn’t bring himself to encroach upon her bedroom. Everything had been kept exactly the way it’s been, and Hawke had even refused to let Bodahn in to clear the dust that have been gathering in the room since.  

Fenris' brows knit together, "I can just sleep on the floor."

"Of course not," Hawke said with a huff, "You probably sleep on the floor in your own home. I have a bed in my room, it only makes sense if someone were to use it. Come. I won't do anything. I swear to you."

Fenris allowed himself to be led up the stairs to Hawke's own bedroom, and onto his own bed. While Fenris no longer struggled, he did seem to disapprove at sleeping on Hawke's own bed, particularly narrowing his eyes at the blood-red sheets, the same sheets that they had both been lying on during that night. As the elf glared at the sheet, his eyes suddenly grew large, as he saw the fraying edges of the sheet on the corner edge of the bed.

“Is that--”, he said, eyes widening.

Hawke grinned, in a slight melancholy manner, “I still haven’t gotten around to replacing the bit you ripped off. What can I say? Call me sentimental all you want.”

Fenris seemed to like the idea of sleeping on the very bed less and less, "Hawke. I-I can't do that. This is your own home, it's your bed,"

"Doesn't matter to me, you take the bed, come, it's comfortable, and Maker knows what you've been sleeping on in that ratty old mansion of yours. It’s just a bed for the night."

Fenris huffed, and said in an unconvincing voice, "It'll bring up specific...memories. Of the night."

Hawke blinked.

He never thought that Fenris would mind so much, "Well--I, _er_ ," he fumbled for a few seconds. Then he caught the unconvincing tone and slightly unbelievable look in Fenris' eyes. _Aha_ – it was all an attempt on Fenris' part to make is so that Hawke will not extend this last bit of hospitality towards the brooding elf. Fenris had perhaps thought that reminding Hawke of the night would somehow deter him from his Crusade of making Fenris comfortable.

With a small quirk of his mouth, Hawke said with a mischievous little grin, "Now, would that be so bad?"

"Hmmph," Fenris huffed, although there was a new pink color starting to form on his face. Hawke smiled to himself as Fenris took the bed. Hawke covered him with several warm blankets and then lit the fireplace. His Mabari hound bounded up the flights of stairs as he knew it was close to bedtime, and lowered himself down to the side of the fireplace.

After placing a sheet down on the area in front of the fire, Hawke laid himself to rest with his mabari hound by his side, like he had been accustomed to doing before he had landed himself in this fancy, wealthy residence that was so out of place for someone like him, who had grown up in the wilds, away from most of civilization on a farm, and later was constantly on the run from the blight of darkspawn.

Now, it felt so surreal to be in such a large and lavish mansion, with only his servants, his hound, and Fenris.

And with that, he fell asleep, dreaming of memories that could never be forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys like it! And sorry about the really late update!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [HERE](http://broody-barnes.tumblr.com/)


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